


Piano Benches and Moral Support

by Benniclark



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Piano, just buds being bros on tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:22:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benniclark/pseuds/Benniclark
Summary: Someone started clapping from behind him.   He jolted so hard that he upended the piano bench.“Sorry.”  The person, Dallon, rushed over to help him up. “Sorry.”  The older man repeated when he was mostly standing. Then Dallon got a look at his face.“Brendon,  are you okay?”He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob.“Dal,  I’m really not.”





	

“There’s no sunshine this impossible year,” he leaned into the microphone and sang to the empty and darkened theater. His voice echoed back sounding much stronger than he felt. He felt pressured to perform the song live, the fans loved it, but he didn’t think he could get through it whole and still be able to continue on afterwards. It was too personal, too open. The empty theater was how he was building up to it. Though the song didn’t yet grace the official set list, he didn’t want to disappoint. He snapped out of his thoughts when the last piano note faded out; he hadn’t even made it past the first line. He took a deep shaking breath and began playing again at the second line. 

“Only black days and sky gray and clouds full of fear  
And storms full of sorrow that won’t disappear  
Just typhoons and monsoons this impossible year.” 

He swallowed and let the chords on the piano sustain before he moved up to the next ones. His voice gaining volume as the mournful song picked up. 

“There’s no good times this impossible year  
Just a beach front of bad blood and a coast that’s unclear  
All the guests at the party they’re so insincere  
They just intrude and exclude this impossible year.” 

He paused and moved his hands again as the song reached its climax. He forced his voice not to break. 

“There’s no you and me his impossible year  
Only heartache and heartbreak and gin made of tears  
This bitter pill I swallow the scar souvenir  
That tattoo your last bruise this impossible year  
There’s never air to breathe there’s never in-betweens  
These nightmares always hang on past the dream.” 

He let his hands improvise the bridge that, on the album, had a horn section overpowering the piano’s part. He swallowed to clear his throat, and took a deep breath as he began to play the quietest part of the song. It was the end. The tears that had gathered and burned in his eyes the whole time began to fall; he’d only ever cried during one other song of theirs, the one that he hadn’t played in nearly five years. Of course, he thought bitterly, that one was a fan favorite too. He played the last chord and let his hands rest there as it faded out. He sang the last chorus out into the dark echoing theater with a cracking and empty voice. 

“There’s no sunshine  
There’s no you and me  
There’s no good times  
This impossible year.”

Someone started clapping from behind him. He jolted so hard that he upended the piano bench. 

“Sorry.” The person, Dallon, rushed over to help him up. “Sorry.” The older man repeated when he was mostly standing. Then Dallon got a look at his face. 

“Brendon, are you okay?” 

He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. 

“Dal, I’m really not.” 

“Okay. It’s okay to not be okay.” 

Brendon nods. Turns to leave the stage. But Dallon pulls him in by his bicep and tugs him into a crushing hug. His face falls just short of Dallon’s shoulder, so he tilts his head down to rest it on Dallon’s chest. After a moment of the two hugging in almost silence, Dallon begins to hum. Jumping between songs, just a few seconds of each making their way to Brendon’s ears. It does what he guesses it was meant to, it distracts him as he tries to figure out what each song is. 

“Awesome dad skills,” he croaks. Dallon chuckles with his mouth closed and it rumbles where Brendon still has his head laid. He pats Brendon on the back and pushes him off, but keeps an arm around the shorter man’s shoulder. 

“C’mon, bud. Let’s go back to the bus.” 

“Carry me, daddy.” Brendon jokes. 

Dallon rolls his eyes, “Never call me daddy again and I’ll carry you anywhere.” 

Brendon gets a piggyback ride across the parking lot. 

The next night, at a different theater, he is alone onstage with the piano to perform the song. The fans don’t know this, they probably think he’s just messing around while Kenny and Dallon change guitars. He gulps, nervous but not terrified like before, and looks across to stage left where Dallon is standing. The older man gives a cheesy grin and throws out both hands with thumbs up. Brendon smiles, small and brief, just before he sits down at the piano’s bench. He leans into the microphone. 

“This next song,” he banters to the applause and cheers of the audience, “Could most likely find its place in a few different points of the life I’ve lived so far. I’m gonna leave it up to each one of you to interpret that. This is Impossible Year.” 

He places his hands on the keys and begins.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really like it when people announce in the summary that it is their first fic.  
> This isn't my first fic, I'm pretty sure it's the first that I've posted anywhere, but as far as writing and feedback goes this isn't my first rodeo. Feel free to tear me and this fic apart.


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